


Most Treasured Guest

by Nui (Nuiihren)



Series: Curse of Strahd Shorts Collection [6]
Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Humor, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuiihren/pseuds/Nui
Summary: MAJOR CAMPAIGN SPOILERS!Rictavio has been invited to dinner at Castle Ravenloft... which might have been a mistake. On Strahd's part.
Series: Curse of Strahd Shorts Collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031067
Kudos: 15





	Most Treasured Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Our campgaign's Ludmila is genderbend

Count Strahd von Zarovich held a strong belief that admitting to mistakes was a sign of weakness. That was how he’d lived his life and all the centuries that followed after. He came close to breaking that conviction, however, one hour into the dinner, as the disguised monster hunter van Richten broke out into another indiscernible story about a female hobgoblin stealing his clothes in a tavern. Somehow, Strahd remembered dimly, the riveting tale was an answer to his question if the man was enjoying his meal. 

His gaze drifted towards the door where Rahadin was standing watch, giving him that look. The can’t-you-just-let-me-kill-him look. The by-gods-why-do-you-have-to-invite-every-idiot-to-dinner look. Strahd suppressed a sigh. He was _close_ to admitting this had been a mistake, yes, but certainly not there yet. Instead, he gave Rahadin a curt nod with a look of his own. The I-know-what-I’m-doing look. The it’s-not-your-job-to-complain look. It was Rahadin who sighed then, giving Strahd the satisfaction of winning their silent argument.

“...and let me tell you, my friend, the vampiric plants I’ve encountered there can suck blood no less effectively than you and your brethren,” van Richten declared meanwhile, taking a brief pause to raise a glass of wine to his lips and gulp down an unhealthy amount of cake. Strahd wondered briefly how this factoid related to the hobgoblin story, but caught himself: he had to use this intermission in the man’s unending flow of words.

“This has been a fascinating discussion, Rictavio,” he said, raising himself from his chair, “I’m always happy to hear a tale from beyond my lands.”

“Of course, you are!” the man winked, _winked_ , at him.

“If you’re not in a rush to leave, I’m sure my consorts will be as happy to hear your stories as I was. Rahadin, you may escort our guest to meet the others.”  
This time around the look on the elf’s face was more of a glare. Strahd shrugged impassively. _Not my problem anymore._ Even as they left, he could hear van Richten’s voice booming from across the hall. He’d laugh at the thought of Rahadin having to endure so much talking addressed at him, but at precisely that moment the undying lord of Barovia felt a long-forgotten sensation of a headache creeping up on him. He poured himself another glass of blood and, unseen by anyone, conceded a heavy sigh after all.

*

It took his consorts less than an hour to start sending him panicked signals.

_Darling, Escher let him go into THAT room,_ Anastrasya let him know as he was just starting to enjoy the quiet.

_He touched the soup, my love, I told him not to, but he did,_ Volenta whined not five minutes later.

_I’m playing strip poker with him to shut him up, but it’s really not working,_ Ludmil reported. How did he think strip poker would stop the man from talking? Strahd wondered.

_It was Anastrasya who didn’t keep him from entering the room, it was her turn to watch him,_ Escher caught up half an hour later. Even over telepathy he sounded exhausted.

_I’ve been babysitting the man for hours, because everyone else pretended to go to sleep,_ Sasha finally complained in a heavy voice.

Even Bucephalus had grievances with van Richten's horse, Strahd could feel.

“Can I kick him out now?” Rahadin asked, entering the room. When was the last time that he’d seen the elf so eager? About five hundred years ago, most likely.

The Dark Lord of Barovia thoughtfully looked out of the window. The sun wasn’t even close to rising.

“Please do,” he said.


End file.
